Say You Want To Start All Over Again
by smc-27
Summary: He wants perfect. He wants a shot at something like forever or always or all those words they used to throw around when they were naive enough to think it would all be easy and they'd find a way. To what? He doesn't know. But he wants to find out. LP O/S


**A/N: **If you don't know Serena Ryder, you probably should. Lyrics and title are from her songs Weak In The Knees and Little Bit of Red, respectively.

All you need to know is Lucas and Peyton never got together S4 (I know. Another story of mine that changes that...) All else is explained within.

**----**

_| Would you mind if I pretended we were somewhere else  
Doing something we wanted to? |  
_

He doesn't know why he never told her. He could say he never had the chance, but it would be a lie. He had chances. He had plenty.

He didn't take them.

It's easy, really.

I love you. I miss you. I never should have left. You never should have let me.

It's easy. They're just words with honest emotions attached to them, weighing them down so they don't get lost. Easy.

Except it's really, really not.

They were young, then they got a little older, and then that little cocoon that was high school broke apart and sent them on their own. He left, and she stayed, and the little dance they'd done for those last few months of high school came to an abrupt end. Someone cut the music, and they turned their backs on one another and walked away. Or he turned his back on her and walked away.

Or she turned her back and he was too cowardly to make her turn back around.

Whatever it was, whatever happened, he left and she stayed.

But he's home now. He's home, and he's failed at all he wanted to do, and he doesn't know what to say to her, or what she'd want to hear if he could even bring himself to open his mouth. No words are the right words, and if the last four years have taught him anything, it's that he's not nearly as good with those things - words - as he'd always thought. Hoped. Whatever.

The point is, New York chewed him up and spit him out and kicked him repeatedly when he was down until he finally raised his hands in surrender and packed his things. He returned to that little town because it was the only place he could think to go, not because he necessarily wanted to.

He'd tried to cut it as a writer. He had a little column in a little community newspaper with a little by line. Except people hated it, so he was dropped. He worked two part time jobs - one in a sports store and one in a little coffee shop around the corner from his building - and wrote his novel and sent freelance queries out.

And in four years, he got exactly nowhere.

He had the odd piece published in little papers or magazines here or there, and while it felt good, it wasn't enough. He wasn't a columnist or a journalist.

But apparently he wasn't a writer either.

He sent drafts of his novel, as well as pages of a second novel, to every publisher in the city. All he got were rejections. They called his characters vapid or superficial or, as one editor put it, 'absolutely fucking rubbish'. They said he wasn't enough of a romantic to try to write like one. They said his plotlines were underdeveloped or unbelievable or uninspired.

New York tried to kill him, and he almost let it.

He'd tried to keep in contact after he left Tree Hill, but other than his brother and his best friend and a few of his 'guys', it just didn't happen.

Come to think of it, that's almost everyone.

Except for two people. Two girls. Women.

Brooke.

Peyton.

One, he thought about calling every single day. Every day, he wanted to pick up the phone and just talk to her. Have her tell him that she had faith in him. He never did, though.

And Brooke. Well, Brooke was just starting to not hate him when they all graduated, and he assumed they both knew they wouldn't stay close when they both left. She was off to L.A., and he was off to New York, and there was no real reason for them to stay in touch at all. So they didn't. It didn't bother him. Not like it bothered him that he'd lost touch with that other girl.

But that was kind of always the way it went, wasn't it? He always felt things a little differently with Peyton. A little more.

Now he's back and he's realizing very quickly, as he scans the backyard at his brother and Haley's house, that he either never should have left, or he should have visited more.

He sips his beer and watches his nephew giggle and laugh in that adorable way that four year olds do. He watches Nathan lean down to whisper something in Haley's ear, and she swats his chest and he laughs at her. He watches the guys he's known forever as they talk and laugh with each other.

And he's never felt more out of place in his entire life.

Then she walks through the back gate - that white fence that he wants to hate, but secretly smiles at Haley having - and he feels like he hates himself. He does.

She looks gorgeous. Tall and tanned and legs stemming out beneath her yellow summer dress. Flip flops rhythmically hitting her heels. A smile on her face and sunglasses over her eyes. Her hair is a little longer and a little less curly and a little less blonde. She's changed.

He still thinks she's the most amazing woman he's ever laid eyes on.

But he's absolutely certain that he doesn't deserve even a moment of her attention.

Jamie runs over to her, and she dramatically huffs and puffs as she pulls the boy into her arms. Lucas watches her talk to Jamie. She laughs and he smiles and she taps his nose. He leans up to whisper something in her ear, cupping his little hand around his lips to indicate it's a secret, and she looks at him wide-eyed, then they both start giggling.

Lucas wants to know what the secret is.

She sets Jamie on his feet and ruffles his hair, and then walks over to the guys. They hand her a beer and she twists off the cap and clinks the neck of her bottle against Skills'. He calls her Skinny Girl, just like he always has, and Mouth says something to her that Lucas can't hear.

She's friends with his friends. He hates that he wasn't the one to bring them all together. Well, he kind of was, but not really. Peyton and Skills never stood like that, with her elbow resting on his shoulder, and his arm casually around her waist.

Some time in the last four years everything changed and he's missed it all.

He feels like a visitor in his own life. He feels like he's not even there, and everyone's just going about their business like he doesn't matter.

Maybe he doesn't.

He doesn't want to be here anymore. He wants to go home and lay on his bed and do nothing at all.

He doesn't want to talk to her.

He's absolutely terrified of it.

_| 'Cause all this livin' makes me wanna do  
__Is die 'cause I can't live with you  
And you don't even care |  
_

He's had one short, awkward conversation with her, and he doesn't know what to do next. He really has no clue.

She welcomed him home (with no hug and barely a smile) and he thanked her. She asked what he thought of the town he'd only been to once since he left, and it sounded like an accusation he was sure she had a right to make it. He'd tried to smile and said it was good to be back, and it seemed they were both relieved when Haley called for Peyton to help her with something in the kitchen.

That was two weeks ago.

He's been home almost a month, and he's seen her around. He's waved from his car, or she from hers, but that's been the extent of their interaction. He's seen her a few times with a man he doesn't recognize. That man has short hair and he's tall, and she always seems to be laughing when she's around him.

Lucas realizes he's about four years too late to have any right to care.

And then he finds himself sitting on the beach with a six pack at his side - well, now a four pack - as he watches the waves roll in and the moonlight bounce off the waves. There's a canopy of stars overhead and he just feels like sitting amongst all that. To get lost in the world a little and try to remember his place in it. Sometimes it's hard to find.

He's lost in thoughts of his life and his times and all the things he hasn't done yet. All the things he didn't do. Maybe all the things he should have done. Maybe all the chances he didn't take or choices he didn't make.

He doesn't see her walking towards him, and he doesn't even know he's not the only one on the beach until she's sitting next to him.

"Wanna share?" she asks. He flinches a little, startled from his thoughts. "Jeez. You're jumpy."

"Sorry. You snuck up on me," he says.

"Not really." She laughs, and he has to smile. Has to. His body physically cannot keep him from smiling when he hears that sound.

"Here," he says, handing her a beer. She pops the tab and knocks her can against his, and they both take sips. He assumes they both need them.

"So, how goes the battle?"

"Battle?" he asks. He's never known her to say things like that. It kills him that maybe he doesn't know her anymore.

"Life," she says with a shrug.

It kills him that she still knows him like the back of her hand.

"Sucks," he answers honestly, taking another drink of his beer. "Home's good, but..."

"But?"

"I'm 22, and I don't know what I'm going to do with my life."

"Darlin', I hate to tell ya, but no one knows what they're going to do with their lives at 22," she says with a chuckle. "Luke, you're doing great."

He almost smiles. He wants to. But she's lying, even if she doesn't know it.

"It's sweet of you to say, but it's bullshit," he says. They both laugh, and he tips his head back. "Everyone's got it together. I've got...nothing."

"That's not true," she scoffs. "You've got family and friends. And beer. Is this German?" She holds up her can in the moonlight to read the label, and she sees him smile when she bumps his shoulder with her own.

"How are you, Peyton?" he asks after a few moments. He sees her shrug her shoulder out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm alright. You know? I thought your mom was crazy asking me to run the café and Tric, but...you know, I'm handling it."

"You just expanded Tric to include that whole back warehouse," he says, looking at her with a raised brow. "I'd say you're handling it just fine."

"I guess," she says softly. She never could take a compliment.

"Who would have thought that I'd be the one to leave, and you'd be the one here?"

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"I just mean...I'm glad you're here, but I guess I just always thought you'd go out and conquer the world," he says, shrugging one shoulder like conquering the world is just a simple concept; like it was just something she was always destined to do.

"Well sometimes things don't really go the way people think they will," she says seriously. "But you know what? There's nothing wrong with that. I love it here. Tree Hill is...It's home."

"Tree Hill feels like the place where I was abandoned as a kid, my father shot my uncle, and I got my..." He stops himself before he says he got his heart broken, but he probably doesn't need to.

He just knows she'd think he was talking about Brooke. But he wouldn't be. Brooke never really ever had his heart.

But it's too soon for all that, and he doesn't know if it'll ever be the right time.

"But...it's also where you grew up, and where you met your best friend. Where all your good memories are, too, Luke. Getting to know your brother, and your nephew and sister being born. Friends and stuff," she says. "I could never really see you in New York."

"No?"

"No." She shakes her head slightly, and he turns his body a little to look at her. "Luke, you'll always be Tree Hill to me."

He wonders why she's able to find those words, but he can't.

"Well, listen," she says, "I've gotta get back."

"Get back?" he asks in confusion.

"Yeah. Home. I bought a place last year," she explains. "When Trevor moved here..."

"Trevor?"

"My...My boyfriend."

How in the hell could no one have told him she has a boyfriend? Sure, he's kind of been a recluse since his return, and he's been drinking a little more than he should, but that doesn't matter. He talks to Haley a couple times a week - upon her insistence - and he's kind of caught up with everyone, and he didn't know that bit of information.

He sets his jaw to keep from yelling at her when he realizes that she must have told everyone not to tell him.

"Right," he says, for lack of anything better.

"Thanks for the beer." She hands the half-full can back to him, and she stands, brushing the sand off her legs before she walks away.

He doesn't say goodbye, and he doesn't care if she cares. He just looks back out over the water, and he drinks the beer she didn't.

One short conversation just proved what he'd probably already known. What he'd probably always known.

He was in love with her. He _is_ in love with her.

She makes it so easy and so impossible.

_| Would you mind if I pretended I was someone else  
With courage in love and war?  
I used to think that's what I was |  
_

He starts writing. He starts writing something he knows he can't mess up.

His life. His story. Every detail he can remember, and every poignant, life-changing thought he's had. He writes it all down.

Not like a diary.

Like a novel.

And he's pretty sure it's good. Maybe even great.

But what he realizes as he looks back on things, is that he's always been a bit of a coward. Or a lot of a coward, depending on the situation. Most of those situations had to do with Peyton, now that it's all there in black and white in front of him. Sure, he'd saved her a couple times, but that was more blind stupidity than any great surge of courage. He wishes she'd tell him differently if he ever said that to her, but he's not really sure.

He thinks about being a teenager with her, and how it all was back then. He'd take whatever she'd give, and he'd take it right away, and it was either too much or not enough and it was never perfect.

He wants perfect, and he wants a shot at something like forever or always or all those words they used to throw around when they were naive enough to think it would all be easy and they'd find a way. A way to what? Looking back now, he doesn't know.

But he wants to find out.

Haley walks through his door one day when he's sitting at the little desk he has set up, and she looks at him in confusion.

"Tetris?" she asks jokingly.

"Funny," he says, squinting at her. "Writing a bit."

"Anything good?" She's making that face she's always made when she's joking, and he just shakes his head. She hasn't really changed a whole lot, and he's glad.

"Maybe," he admits.

"Nathan's got Jamie under control, so I thought I'd see if you wanted to hang out."

"Yeah," he says, standing from his place. "Sounds like fun."

They get as far as the kitchen and he's making coffee while she assembles PB&J sandwiches with a sprinkle of sugar (no crusts) just like they used to do as kids. Only now she isn't holding onto a security blanket - the one he made fun of her for carrying until he made her cry one day - and he isn't reading some secondhand book. Well, he's not reading one at the moment.

"So what's up?" he asks as they take their seats at the table.

"Just checking in. Seeing how you are."

"Can I ask you something?" He figures he'll get right to the question he's wanted to ask for a few days now.

"Of course," she says as she stirs milk into her coffee.

"Why didn't you tell me about Trevor?" he asks, surprising himself with how steadily he says the other man's name.

"Why do you _care_ about Trevor?" She raises her brow at grins at him, and he knows she's just waiting for the gossip; the admission she knows he'll eventually make.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and he knows that of all the people in the world he could lie to or keep things from, well, Haley wouldn't even make it onto the list. She's clearly already more in tune with his feelings than he is, and if he doesn't just confirm it, she'll keep dropping those 'subtle' hints until he does.

"It's Peyton, Hales," is all he can say. He knows he doesn't need to say more.

She just nods her head at him and smiles. She thought it would have taken more to get it out of him, but she's thankful that at least he's not in denial.

"They've been together about a year and a half," she explains, knowing that as much as it'll kill him to know the details, he still needs them. "He's a contractor."

"A contractor?" he asks. "Really?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" he answers quickly. "Nothing at all. I just always saw her with..."

"You?" she asks with a kink in her brow.

"Cute."

"True, though," she says, pointing at him with her spoon. "Come on, Luke. You know you never got over her."

"Maybe not," he says into his mug. "We just...had bad timing."

"Well, _yeah_," Haley laughs. He glares at her again, and she rolls her eyes. "Sorry, Luke, but it's true. You two are, like, the best match ever, with the worst timing ever."

"Yeah," he says softly.

"Well, you'll meet him Saturday night. You're coming to Tric, right? It's that big charity concert thing she's doing."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there," he says.

He's really never been the kind of guy who can just idly stand around and watch Peyton be with someone else.

He hates that he has to do it now.

_| But now this lyin' hurts too much  
And I don't know what for |  
_

He walks into the bustling café the next day, and he smiles when he sees Peyton standing behind the counter, a pencil between her teeth and a clipboard in her hands. He's been told she doesn't wait tables or make food or do any of that. She simply makes the schedule, takes care of ordering, and ensures everything's running smoothly.

Judging by the amount of people in there at 2:00 on a Wednesday, he'd say she's going a pretty good job.

"Well, well," she says with a smile, putting her hand on her hip when she sees him. "The prodigal son returns."

"It's weird in here," he notes, glancing at the unchanged decor. It's like a time warp to his senior year.

"Weird?" she asks with a raised brow.

"Weird nostalgic. It's good. Busy, huh?"

"Nice save," she says, and he chuckles. "What's up?"

"Just passing by. Thought I'd stop and say hi," he says, shrugging one shoulder.

"Well, wanna steal some coffee and head up to the roof?" she asks enticingly. She grabs two cups and she's already pouring by the time he manages to tell her he'd like that.

He pushes open the heavy metal door and holds it for her as she walks past, and he can smell the scent of her shampoo. It's different than it used to be. He likes it just as much, and he knows it has everything to do with the girl, and very little to do with the molecular make up of whatever it is she uses.

"Whoa," he says, looking around. "This is crazy."

It's a far cry from the miniature golf course he and Haley made, or the lone picnic table that used to be up there. There's a cedar deck with a wood swing, potted plants, and a few solar powered lights scattered around. It's like a little garden, right up there on the roof.

"Haley and I...It's our little escape," she explains. "She'd kill you if she knew I brought you up here, so keep your mouth closed, Scott."

He laughs at the warning and jokingly salutes to her, and she smiles.

They take a seat on the swing, and they sip from their mugs as they rock back and forth, letting the late-day summer sun beat down on them.

"So you and Haley," he says, smiling when she does at the mere mention of the girl. "You're close."

"Best friends," she says. "I mean...Brooke's kind of been out of touch for the last three years or so, and...you know, you were away."

She does her best not to make it sound like he's been cut out of the picture, because he clearly hasn't been. She's just explaining how she and Haley came to be each others' support system.

"Good," he says, nodding his head. "I'm glad you guys have each other."

"What about you? Any friends from New York worth mentioning?"

"Not really," he says with a shrug. "I just worked a lot and wrote when I wasn't working. There were friends, I guess, but...no one worth writing home about."

"You apparently didn't have much to write home about at all," she says before she can stop herself. He lets out a quick sigh, and she closes her eyes. "I'm sorry. That wasn't...that was shitty of me to say."

"No. You're right. I was...I was a shitty friend, so...You know," he says, looking over to see her shaking her head and smiling.

"So we both suck."

"Equally."

"I'm OK with that," she says, and they both laugh. "I missed this."

"You have no idea," he breathes out.

"Lucas Scott, did you miss me?" she asks, letting that southern drawl he so loved take over her speech.

"More than anything, I think," he admits.

She just smiles, and she looks into her mug, but he doesn't miss the colour his simple, honest comment puts on her cheeks. He kind of loves that.

They're quiet for a bit, until they both have just a little bit of coffee left. It's like they're both hanging onto that last sip because they don't want this little encounter to end.

"So, what's he like?" he finally asks. He just can't not find out.

"I _knew_ it," she whispers. "I knew you couldn't just sit here and not bring it up."

"I'm just curious about your life."

"I just...I..."

"Don't want to tell me," he says sadly, like her not filling him in is just the worst thing in the world.

"No. I don't," she says firmly.

"OK."

"It's not, really, though. Is it?" she asks, shaking her head. "You're _Lucas_, Lucas."

He laughs a little, because that sounds just ridiculous, but the way she said it and the voice she used made it sound like the the most poignant thing she'd ever said.

"I know."

"No." She turns to him and her knee brushes his, and she places her hand on his shoulder. "You're Lucas, and I'm Peyton, and...and it was always kind of Lucas and Peyton."

"Was it?" he asks quietly, unable to look away from her.

"Yes," she says, leaving no room for argument.

But even she has to know that he doesn't really want to argue.

"Yeah," he whispers. "But you have Trevor. And...and that's great."

She looks at him for a moment, and he's sure she's going to tell him to cut the bullshit and stop trying to lie to her. He knows she can't buy that he thinks it's _great_. He's very aware that he wasn't being very convincing, and that maybe he doesn't want to be, and that maybe he doesn't care if she knows it.

"I should um...I have to finish the schedule, then get to..."

"Yeah," he says quickly, standing from his place when she does. "Yeah. Of course."

They make idle chat as they walk down the stairs and back into the café, and she smiles when she says goodbye. He looks over his shoulder before he heads out the door, and she's already talking to a customer at the counter, laughing and smiling like she's meant to.

And he realizes that maybe he's just another person she talks to.

_| I'm weak in the knees for you  
But I'll stand if you want me to  
My legs are strong and I move on  
But honey, I'm weak in the knees |  
_

He's dressed in a casual plaid button down and his most comfortable pair of jeans, and he's standing at the bar at Tric. He hasn't seen her yet. The place is packed and he's sure she's got her hands full, and there's a part of him that wants to apologize for the other day. The other part of him is screaming at him to just let it go and let it be and just move on. He's not even certain he's got anything to apologize for.

He's halfway through his first drink when he sees her across the bar, laughing at something her boyfriend has said, and when she leans forward and kisses that man, Lucas realizes he should have had a drink beforehand. His beer isn't going down nearly quickly enough.

He thinks he could slip out unnoticed. He could throw a $10 on the bar and leave and no one would ever know he was there.

Then she's smiling at him and waving him over, and he actually curses as he orders another beer. He downs his first as he waits for the second, and he braces himself for this encounter.

He walks towards her, and he can't help but look her up and down. He's not even sure he does it discretely. He doesn't care. She's in a short black dress with a low cut back. Her hair is down and she's got black heels on, and he just wants her to himself.

"Luke!" she says happily, placing her hand on his bicep. "This is Trevor. Trevor, this is Luke."

The darker haired man extends his hand as Lucas offers only a nod as the men shake hands.

"Luke. Right. The one who hooked up with Brooke instead of you," Trevor says candidly. Lucas looks at Peyton, who's looking at her boyfriend with her jaw dropped.

"Trev," she says admonishingly.

"What?" he asks innocently. "It's true, right?" Peyton just shakes her head, a little blown away that he just said all that. "I'll get us some drinks. Back in a minute."

He kisses Peyton's forehead and walks off, and she looks at Lucas. He can tell she's mortified. He wonders why _Trev_ couldn't.

"I'm so sorry. I can't believe he just did that," she says. Her tone suggests that she really is in awe of it, and she glances at Trevor as he orders.

"It's not like he's lying," Lucas says, taking a swig of his beer as he looks away from her.

"Don't...don't do that," she says. "Don't judge him based on that."

"What else would I judge him on?" he asks bitterly. "The fact that he's your boyfriend?"

"What does that mean?" She furrows her brow and moves towards him a little more, so they can talk softer.

"You can't honestly expect me to like him," he says, as though it's the most absurd notion in the world.

She thinks that maybe he didn't come back for her. But maybe now that he's here, he wants her.

"I'm gonna go," he says, setting his mostly-full bottle on the bar.

"Lucas..."

"I can't, Peyton. Good luck tonight, but...I can't," he says.

He walks away and Trevor returns, and she's still looking in the direction of that blonde man and watching him weave through the crowd when Trevor puts a drink in her hand.

She hands the drink back to him and takes off towards the exit. If Lucas Scott thinks he can just come back to Tree Hill and get in her head again, he's sorely mistaken. Except he already got in her head without even trying. Except he was always in her head, all those days of the four years he was away, and every day since. She hates that when she hears his name, she smiles to herself.

She really hates that she can't just let him walk out of the bar and deal with his issues by himself.

"Lucas!" she yells once she's in the parking lot. He turns around and stops walking, and he tips his head back as he puts his hands on his hips. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why now? Why are you coming here and acting like...like you have some sort of _claim_ to me or something?"

"I didn't say that," he scoffs.

"You're acting like it, and it's bullshit," she says angrily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You know what the worst part is?" he asks, and she shakes her head like he's talking crazy. "Four damn years ago, I walked away, and it took coming back to realize I should have just told you."

"Told me what, Lucas?" she asks softly, taking another step towards him.

"Told you that you...you amaze me," he admits wistfully. "You're incredible, and I was too stupid to realize that we could have had something. I don't know. But you still make me absolutely weak in the knees every damn time I'm around you, and I hate you for it."

"Luke," she whispers.

He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, like all he's just said is merely fact; just the things he's learned he has to live with.

She has absolutely no idea why she does it, but she just turns on her heel without another word and walks back towards the club. Back to Trevor, and back to the crazy evening she has.

They've always had the worst timing.

_She_ hates _him_ for that.

_| Would you mind if I walked over and I kissed your face  
In front of all of your friends? |_

He doesn't see her for another week. He likes it, actually. He's lived in solitude and silence and he's barely left his house, and he's just fine with that, thank you very much.

He'll take to the River Court in the middle of the night when the rest of the town is asleep, and he'll walk home in the sticky summer heat. He'll read in the quiet of his own home, and he'll sit out on the porch at night, sipping herbal tea and watching the colours in the sky fade to black.

But his life isn't much more than that yet. His family and writing and that's it. After four years in New York, with all it's noise and intensity, this quiet and calm is actually welcome.

But then he runs out of alcohol one night when he could really use a drink, and it's too late to head out to buy more. He finds himself at Tric, and he really wishes that he'd picked a night when she wasn't there.

No such luck.

Why the hell can't Tree Hill have more bars?

She's standing there, arms crossed over her chest as she surveys the room, bobbing her head a little to the music that plays. Her hair is up. Sort of. It's kind of a mess. He likes it, though.

He just wants to kiss her. Boyfriend be damned. She's all blonde hair and legs and beauty, and he fucking hates her for never letting him have all that.

But he's so Goddamned in love with her, that all he can do is order another scotch, sit with his elbows on the bar, and hope for Trevor's untimely demise.

He really doesn't like that guy.

So he only met him once, and only for a few minutes, but the comment Trevor made wasn't appreciated in the least, and Lucas made sure Peyton knew that. But she wasn't too impressed either. Lucas wonders if maybe what they had means a little more to her than she's letting on, too.

She sees him there and she waves, and he raises his hand feebly. And then she's walking over and his temperature spikes when he sees her hips sway. He quickly takes another drink, a futile attempt to steady his nerves, and then she's standing next to him.

"Hey," she says.

He notices she's nervous, too.

"Hi."

"You know, every time I've seen you since you've been back, you've had a drink in your hand," she muses, leaning her elbow on the bar as she stands next to him.

"Nope. We had coffee," he reminds her.

"Still..."

"Still what, Peyton?" he asks, almost too harshly.

"I don't like seeing you like this," she says, her eyes shining with an emotion that looks an awful lot like compassion.

"No one told you to look," he says coldly.

"Is this what it's gonna be like?" she asks, gesturing between them with her hand. "You and I barely able to be in the same space because you can't..."

"Can't what? Get over you?" he asks, his eyes locking with hers.

She doesn't expect such an honest statement, and she's not sure why. She reels back a little because of it, and then she just closes her eyes.

_| Would you mind if I got drunk and said  
I wanna take you home to bed  
Oh, would you change your mind? |  
_

"You shouldn't even be...under me," she says. She smiles when he raises an eyebrow because she realizes just how ridiculous that all sounds.

"That's a matter of opinion," he tells her. There's just an air of innuendo that she really wants to hate.

She can't, though. She wants him to want her, and she doesn't know why, but she really wishes that would all go away.

"Luke, come on," she says pleadingly.

"What?" he asks, lazily shrugging one shoulder. "I don't really know what you want from me."

"I want you to be honest. With yourself, more than anything."

"You want honesty?" He squares his shoulders to her and their eyes lock as she nods almost hesitantly. "I want to go back in time. To senior year. And I want to tell you that it's you, Peyton. God...I don't know why I never did. I don't know. I want to go back in time and never leave, and tell you that you're the one."

"Luke."

"And I can say it now until I'm blue in the face, but it doesn't mean a fucking thing because you don't want to hear it," he continues. "And you...You look so damn good, and all I want is to pull you out of here and take you home and do things to you that...I can't even talk about in public."

She feels her cheeks flush and she feels her pulse race and she gets that feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she really hates that all that sounds so good to her.

"Jesus, Lucas," she whispers, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"You wanted honesty."

"I didn't think..."

"Didn't you?" he challenges. She gets even more flushed, and it's all he can do not to just grab her and kiss her.

"I thought you might keep it PG," she says, and he smiles because he thinks she wants him to. "I don't know what to say."

"Nothing," he says. He finishes his drink and sets the empty glass on the bar. "Don't say anything."

"I...I want to, I just..."

"Don't," he insists. "Because if you do, I won't...Just don't."

He holds out his hand as he walks away, silently asking her to keep her distance from him, though he's sure she wouldn't heed the warning even if he spoke it in harsh tones. She's always been the kind to just do what she wanted. That's kind of what he loves about her. Well, one of the things he loves about her.

He's walking home when he hears a car pull up next to him, and he doesn't need to look to know who it is.

"Get in," she demands.

"It's two blocks," he says. He's almost home, and he doesn't want to continue any of this.

"Get in!" she almost shouts.

He does as he's told, almost out of fear alone. Well, that's not true. It's fear, and anticipation, and he won't lie, pure, unadulterated lust. And love. And a whole lot of other things that he really doesn't want to focus on when he knows they aren't reciprocated.

He slides in next to her and she pulls away from the curb again, and they just drive. He doesn't know where they're going. He's not even sure she knows. He just wants to go wherever she's taking him, forget everything else.

They end up in the neighbourhood where Nathan used to live. It's strange, he thinks, but there's a little wooded area, and he wonders, for a reason he doesn't want to question, whether she ever went there with Nathan to do...whatever. He may have drank that drink too fast.

They get out and they start walking, and she wraps her arms around herself, though it's July and it's plenty warm out. It has nothing to do with the weather.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm tying to figure out what the hell is going on with you," she says bluntly. "And...I don't know if it's just me."

"It is."

"Bullshit."

"You just said..."

"I wanted to see if you'd try to lie to me," she says, stopping in her tracks and turning to him. "What's going on?"

"I'm...I feel like...I don't know."

"Do you really not know, or are you just to scared to admit it?" she asks gently.

"I don't want to talk about this right now," he insists. "Why are you...Why did you follow me?"

"Because. I _care_ about you," she says urgently, taking his hand in hers. "And...I'm scared for you. You're...I don't know what's going through your head. You've changed, and I don't know what to think about it."

"Oh."

"And you just said all those things to me, and I don't know what to do with all that information," she admits. "I...I really wish I didn't care."

"But you do?" he asks softly, like he can't believe it.

It's kind of romantic, she realizes. Moonlight and stars and darkness. Trees and cicadas and a boy she'd always thought was the one that got away. The one she'd always maybe wanted. The one she'd always maybe held out hope for. That someday he'd return and say all sorts of wonderful things, and she'd fall into his arms and they'd just be. She wouldn't have a boyfriend, and Lucas wouldn't be in the middle of some sort of quarter-life crisis, and they'd be together.

"Of course I do," she almost whispers. "I hate that I do, but...I do."

"Why?" he asks. "Do you, I mean."

"Because, Luke!" She realizes she's still holding his hand, and she looks down. His is so much bigger than hers, but she kind of likes it that way. "Because it's you and me, and maybe it was always you and me, and maybe you coming back means...something."

He kisses her, then, and she moans in surprise as he weaves his fingers through hers. He pulls her closer to him, and his free hand clutches her waist almost too tightly, but neither of them cares. In that moment, she doesn't have a boyfriend, and he's not so depressed he barely knows who he is, and there's nothing else between them either. It's just them and the night and it feels way better than it ever even used to.

She pulls away after a moment, but she's still holding onto the front of his shirt, and her other hand is still on his shoulder blade, and she lets out a little sigh that leads him to believe that she didn't want to stop kissing him.

"Sorry," he says anyway.

"No."

"What?"

"Don't be sorry. Please," she says softly. "It's...you and me."

"But you have a..."

"I know," she interrupts. "I know." She pulls away from him and subtly wets her lips. "Come on. I'll drive you home."

He doesn't say anything. He follows her back to her car, and they remain silent the entire way back to his house. He gets out of the car without saying a thing, and she drives away without a word.

But in her head, all she's wondering is how that one kiss, the first they'd shared in about six years, felt better than any she's really had with Trevor.

But she doesn't need to wonder.

Because all those things that he wishes he'd said?

She wishes he'd said them too.

_| I'm weak in the knees for you  
But I'll stand if you want me to  
My legs are strong and I move on  
But honey, I'm weak in the knees  
For you |  
_

She treats her bottle of San Pallegrino like Champagne, holding it by the neck as she takes long swigs. The liquor store was closed by the time she needed the alcohol, so she'll let the bubbles of the carbon water die on her tongue and pretend they'll give her the heady, buzzy feeling she'd so love to have right now.

She knows there's one place, other than Tric, where she could go to get that feeling.

And that other place is just so much better than Tric, she thinks.

She doesn't knock. She just steps into his bedroom and sees him there, his laptop perched on his thighs as he types. He looks over at her, and it's clear he's in shock. It's been nearly two weeks since that kiss, and he's only seen or talked to her in passing, and clearly not about anything that had to do with _them_.

"Hi," Lucas says in confusion.

"Tell me you have alcohol."

"Uh huh," he mumbles, setting his laptop to the side. "Beer?"

"Stronger?"

"Gin?" he suggests.

"Good," she says.

She's walking to the door that leads to the hallway before he can even get up off his bed, and he knows there's something seriously wrong. She wouldn't be visiting him, and she wouldn't be insisting he feed her alcohol unless there was something wrong.

But he pours her a gin and tonic as she paces the kitchen, and she drinks it far too quickly for his liking.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"Trevor's moving out. I couldn't be there," she explains softly.

"Why is...Why?" he asks. He hopes to God that the answer she gives is the one he so desperately wants to hear.

"Because."

"Oh. Of course," he says, and she laughs.

"Who wants to be there when someone moves out?" she asks. She hands her empty glass back to him, and he begins pouring her another.

"I kind of meant, why is he moving out?" he tells her with a smirk. She closes her eyes in embarrassment, and he laughs a little bit.

"We broke up," she says needlessly. He looks at her from the corner of his eye as if to say that he understood that part. She lets out a huffy breath and rolls her eyes. "It's...complicated."

"Alright," he says. He hands her her refilled glass, and he clinks it with the rim of his own.

He won't press her, and they both know that, and that's exactly what makes her want to tell him absolutely everything. It's always been that way, and she'd love to hate it, but he's the only one who's ever made her feel that way.

He's the only one who's ever made her feel a lot of ways.

Like the way he's looking at her right now is making her feel like her heart is full and not broken. He's making her feel like her heart was never broken, and that maybe that's because he's always had it. She's got butterflies in her stomach and a lump in her throat and she really wants to cry.

All from just one look.

She has to close her eyes and bite her lip, and she really hates that she seems to lose control when she's around him.

"Are you alright?" he asks compassionately.

And a tear slips from her eye.

"Fine."

"Clearly."

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "I'm barely holding it together right now."

"You wanna talk about it?" he asks.

"It's not about him," she says, and he looks at her questioningly. "It's about you, Lucas. I can't stop thinking about everything you said."

"I'm sorry."

"No. I don't mean it in a bad way. I mean...I can't believe you said all that, and...OK, stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" he asks with a smirk.

"Like...like you love me or something," she says, locking eyes with him.

Neither of them says another word, and she knows that he loves her, and he knows that she knows, and that maybe she might love him too.

_| Oh for you  
Oh for you  
Oh for you |  
_

They take it slow. Very slow.

Trevor leaves and there's no trace of him in the house Peyton lived with him in.

But Lucas wouldn't know. He hasn't been in that house. And that's OK.

They spend their time in neutral places. The rooftop of the café, or the River Court, or Tric, or...anywhere that isn't his house or her house. They talk about neutral things and they laugh about neutral things and they don't kiss. Everything's just neutral.

Lucas wants to hate it, but he knows he has no right.

So he walks with her along the beach with iced coffee in his hand, and he pretends his heart doesn't race when she pulls her hair up off her neck. He pretends he doesn't want to tell her he loves her each time she says the shortened form of his name. He pretends he isn't writing his life story and she's the biggest part.

He pretends she hasn't completely changed him again.

He's writing, and he's coaching a junior league basketball team, and he even helps tend bar at Tric every now and again when her bar manager needs a break.

And he _smiles_.

And when they kiss for the first time since she's been single, it literally takes her breath away.

They're sitting on the steps of his porch, and they're nursing strawberry daiquiris with coconut rum because they're her favourite, even though Lucas insists that men shouldn't drink pink drinks.

She thinks it might count for something that he'll do it for her.

"Know what's crazy?" she starts. She doesn't wait for him to answer before she continues. He loves that. "I went to New York once. I was looking for the new bar we put in Tric and a bunch of furniture and stuff. And I looked for you everywhere I went. Which is totally stupid, and I can't even believe I'm telling you that, but...I wanted to see you. To find you, and just...be around you. It was..."

She's cut off when he leans over and kisses her. It's a little awkward until she shifts so she's facing him a little more, and then it's _perfect_. He tastes like strawberries, and his cheek is rough when she places her palm on it, and his hand falls to her thigh, his fingertips grazing the seam at the inside of her jeans there.

"Thank you," she sighs once they've parted.

"Excuse me?" he laughs.

"That's...how it should be."

"Well, I think so," he says, and she closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his.

"I mean...kisses. Should be like that," she explains. "That good."

"They're only that good with you," he tells her.

Her body buzzes and her breathing gets a little shallow and she thinks that her heart might just burst. And she feels like this is probably the best she's ever been.

_| Oh for you  
Oh for you  
Oh for you |  
_

"I don't want to rush anything," she says, and he smirks at her.

"This isn't rushing. We aren't rushing," he says, and they both laugh.

"I know, but...with everything, and the history, and...everything..."

"I don't want to mess it up either," he says, knowing exactly what she was trying to say. "But how slow is slow."

"Kiss me," she says, leaning forward a bit.

"No, I really need an answer," he tells her.

"Why? Will you kiss me differently if you know we aren't sleeping together tonight?" she asks with a raised brow.

"Well, yes, a little." He laughs and she rolls her eyes at him. "I just want to be respectful. We need to do this right."

"Let's just play it by ear." It's vague, and she's not sure he'll understand, but the way he nods gently lets her know that maybe he does.

"OK. We'll figure it out," he says, running his thumb over her cheekbone. "I'm going to kiss you again."

And she thinks that anyone who ever tried to say that Lucas Scott isn't a romantic is absolutely insane.

_| I'm weak in the knees for you  
But I'll stand if you want me to  
Oh, my legs are strong and I move on  
But honey, I'm weak in the knees... |  
_

"Why are you all fancy?" she asks with a raised brow.

She steps into his bedroom just as he's pulling on his light grey shirt, and she's actually a little surprised she's able to form coherent sentences. He's kind of attractive. He turns to face her, and she can see his chest and his stomach, and she's staring until her eyes meet his and she sees the smirk on his face. It's clear he likes the attention. She likes giving it, though, too.

"I'm taking you on a date," he tells her, buttoning his shirt.

"What? We go out all the time," she reminds him.

It's been a few weeks since those kisses, and they've done a lot of that since that night on his porch. They just haven't done much else.

Well, that's not true. They've started spending more time together, and they're still building their relationship. Their houses aren't off limits anymore, but bedrooms - save for moments like this where she enters his house through the side door - are.

She can tell he's trying to be patient with her, but she doesn't want to rush anything. He understands. But he's a man. Every time she tells him to stop or pushes his hand away, he takes a deep breath, and she knows he's at least just a little annoyed. They aren't kids anymore, and she doesn't want him to grow impatient.

But she also doesn't want to lose him again.

He keeps telling her that she won't. She loves that she doesn't even need to ask.

"Not on real dates. You deserve real dates," he says firmly. "Go home, put on something nice, and I'll pick you up in a half hour."

"Lucas..."

"Go on. I can't take you out in your ripped jeans and Skynard tee shirt."

"I don't need you to take me out," she says, shaking her head. It's really all she can do not to run over to him and unbutton all the buttons he just fastened. She suddenly doesn't want him wearing a shirt.

Ever.

But she'll let him woo her - which is clearly what he's going to do - because she thinks it'll just solidify everything. He wants to prove that this is all for keeps, and she wants to feel like they haven't been waiting for nothing.

Their friends have been even less patient than the couple themselves. Nathan doesn't understand what the hold up is and Skills thinks they're just insane. Haley, not surprisingly, is the one who understands. Nathan rolls his eyes when he thinks she isn't looking, but it's all in jest. When he teases Lucas that he didn't even have to wait that long for Haley, he gets scowls from almost everyone. Nathan laughs, but no one else finds the humor in the statement. He takes it back when Haley tells him, very seriously, that he could start waiting again.

"Go. Half hour," Lucas insists.

She sighs and rolls her eyes, and she leaves without kissing him. She's outside when she realizes it, and she walks back into the room and presses her lips to his. He just chuckles when she leaves again without another word.

She gets to her house and walks up the stairs to her bedroom, and she looks through her closet for a dress to wear.

As she's pulling on the navy blue fabric, zipping it at the back and stepping into her shoes, she decides they aren't waiting anymore. She'd probably already known it - hell, he'd probably already known it, too - but it's been long enough. She's not so afraid that they'll crash and burn, and he's back to being the man he wants to be, and they've both helped each other with all of that.

He shows up right on time with white roses in his hand (she always said they were her favourite over red) and her heart skips a beat. He remembers everything. She's this close to telling him to forget this stupid date, because she's ready and whatever he's got planned is just going to be postponing the inevitable. But she also knows it'll be wonderful. She just knows it.

They're seated at the best table in the best restaurant in town, and she sips her wine coyly and looks across the table at him.

"You know, this is a little much," she points out teasingly.

"It's perfect," he says. "And you're perfect, and we're perfect."

She's quiet and blushing, so he takes her hand across the table, and his thumb moves back and forth over her knuckles as they wait for their dessert to arrive. She decides his cheesecake is better than her tiramisu, and he pretends to be annoyed when she, very cutely, asks if he wants to trade. He should have known she'd do it. He barters and tells her that as long as she'll give him one last bite, she can have his cheesecake. She takes a bit on her fork and spoons it into his mouth, then she stands and leans across the table, kissing him and catching him completely off guard before he's even swallowed.

Dessert doesn't seem so important anymore.

He pays the bill, with her complaining about the expense and him asking her just what kind of guy she thinks he is. She doesn't argue that. She knows the answer.

"Come on," he says once they're outside. He takes her hand in his and starts down the river walk.

"Lucas," she says, stopping in her tracks and forcing him to look at her. "Can you...What are we doing?"

"It's a date, Peyton," he laughs. "Do you need a Oxford definition?"

"Luke..."

"Come on. I want to show you something," he tells her, and she rolls her eyes as they start walking again.

They end up at the River Court and she wouldn't be surprised by that, except that this is their 'date', and she thinks it a little odd that he'd bring her here. He pulls her towards the goal with her constantly questioning what he's doing and why they're there and why he's being so damn mysterious. They both know she hates surprises.

"You complain a lot," he says. She smacks his arm and her jaw drops, and he cowers away from her as he laughs. "Kidding, babe."

"Why are we here, Luke?" she asks, almost huffing in frustration.

It's dark and while she knows he'd never let anything happen to her (God, she loves that), she doesn't necessarily love hanging out in a mostly dark park. He walks away from her momentarily to switch on the floodlights, then his hand is holding hers again and she has to smile.

"Because of this," he says. He tugs her towards the faded red post, and he points to a spot she can barely see, it's so weathered.

But she sees it.

_LS + PS _carved into the paint.

She almost cries.

"Lucas..."

"I did that when I was 13," he tells her. "I had such a thing for you. I always did."

"13?" she manages, though there really is a lump in her throat.

"You used to walk around in that Zeppelin tee shirt like it was a badge of honour. And your hair was always a mess," he laughs. "You were gorgeous. I...I was just crazy about you."

She doesn't say anything for a good few minutes, and he's getting a little nervous. She's just running her fingertips over their initials, etched into that post in the place where he grew up; the place that's so special to him.

If there was ever any doubt (there wasn't) that they were meant for each other, it's all erased because of those five little characters.

He cups her elbow and she turns to him, and she isn't crying, but she knows she could if she'd let herself.

"You've got me a little weak in the knees," she tells him.

He leans in close to her and pulls her against him, and her free hand falls to his bicep like it's the most natural resting place, and he says;

"Good."

_| I'm weak in the knees for you  
But I'll stand if you want me to  
My legs are strong and I move on |  
_

She wakes one Saturday morning in his bed, and she notices that he's getting dressed in his khakis and white shirt, with his sport coat resting on the chair at his desk. He's tying his tie when he sees her looking at him, and he winks at her in the mirror.

"Good afternoon," he says.

"Afternoon?" she asks in confusion. She glances at the clock and sees that it's well after 12:00. "Why'd you let me sleep so late?"

"You're cute when you sleep," he says with a shrug.

"But your game..."

"Isn't for another hour."

"An hour!?" she shouts, jumping out of bed. "Lucas!"

"Peyton, relax. They're a bunch of 12-year-olds," he laughs.

"Coached by my boyfriend!" she tells him, walking into the hall.

He peeks his head out the door to watch her padding to the bathroom in just a tank top and her underwear. If it's possible, she's even sexier now that she's all his. If he told her that, she'd tell him that she was always his, and he'd believe her even though they'd both know it isn't entirely true.

"Stop staring, Coach," she says, making him laugh as she kicks the door closed.

He sips a glass of juice as she showers in what seems like record time. He actually checks his watch, unable to believe that his girl has finished in the bathroom in only 10 minutes. He hears the blow dryer switch on, and he shakes his head. He kind of loves that she takes these games so seriously. She hasn't missed one all season, no matter what. She cancelled a meeting with a band she'd been chasing for ages, just so she could watch Lucas coach his team.

She's kind of amazing.

Since the night of their very romantic, very good date - a date that ended in her bedroom - they've been pretty much inseparable. She sleeps at his house, or he sleeps at her house, and they don't go more than just a few hours without talking. When their friends make fun of them, they bite their tongues. Then when they're behind closed doors, they say they're just making up for lost time. Lots of it.

She said she loved him one night when they were doing dishes in her kitchen. It was quiet, save for some soft music playing, and the sun was going down, shining through the window above the sink. Lucas was elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing away, and she noticed he was smiling. He was smiling as he did dishes, and she thought that was just the cutest thing. Then she realized she was smiling, too. She set down the plate she'd been drying, and she wrapped her arms around him and whispered those words in his ear.

He'd replied, "I know. I love you, too."

She was pretty sure that was perfect.

She still pouts every time she asks if she can read his novel, and he still says no every time. To her credit, he has told her she's in it, which he shouldn't have. It's only made her more curious. He hasn't read her a single passage.

But that book is done now, and he wants her to read it before anyone else. She doesn't know it, but when they get home from the day's game, he'll hand her that stack of papers and hold his breath and wait for her reaction.

"How much time do I have!?" she calls from the bathroom.

"We need to leave in 20," he shouts back.

He laughs when she mutters a curse and rushes down the hall. Her hair is mostly dry, and she's got just a little makeup on - perfect, if you ask him - and she's wearing just a towel. Also perfect.

"You better be putting clothes on, babe," he says, following her into his bedroom. "As much as I love this, I don't think the parents would."

She doesn't say anything. She just pulls the towel undone and tosses it towards him, and she raises her eyebrow when he groans and tries to look away. He can't do it, and she loves that.

"Don't mess with me," she warns him. "What should I wear?"

"Nothing."

"I'm serious!"

"Oh, so am I," he growls.

He walks towards her and wraps the towel around her again, taking her in his arms in the process. She melts into him just a little bit, and he kisses her just below her ear; that spot he loves to kiss and she loves to be kissed.

"Skinny jeans, black sweater, black boots," he murmurs.

It's his favourite outfit of hers. Such a favourite that he makes her keep it at his house. She smiles to herself as she pulls the items from his closet.

He lays on the bed and watches as she gets dressed, and he tries not to let her notice when he's checking the time. He really can't be late and he hopes they won't be. But she sits next to him as she zips her boots, and he thinks it'd be worth it if he was late. She stands and smoothes out her top, and he smiles at her in a way that lets her know that he thinks she looks incredible.

"Come on," she says, grabbing her keys and purse.

"Go start the car. I'll be two minutes," he tells her. She looks at him in confusion for a moment, but walks out without another word.

He takes that stack of papers - though they're so much more than just a stack of papers - and sets them on the bed, letting his hand linger on the front cover for a moment before he makes his way to the door.

If she doesn't already know how much he loves her, she will once she reads that book.

But he's still really, really nervous for her to read that book.

_| But honey, I'm weak  
Oh honey, I'm weak |  
_

He wins his game that day, with her cheering from the bleachers and calling his players by their names. She knows them and they know her, because she's hosted a couple little 'parties' for the team at the café.

It's only late in the afternoon when they step back through the door to his bedroom. He'd suggested they go for an early dinner or ice cream or coffee, but she told him she was fine just going home. She blushed a little when she realized she'd called his place home.

He's very aware that he was just trying to stall having her read the book she'd been pleading with him to let her read.

"What's this?" she asks, taking the pages in her hand. "This is your book."

"Yeah," he says softly. "I want you to read it."

"Really?" she asks.

"Mhmm."

She pushes him out the bedroom door into the main part of the house, and she kisses him quickly before essentially slamming the door on his face, telling him not to bother her while she's reading or she'll be his first bad review. It's an empty threat and they both know it.

So he sits on the sofa and he waits.

She settles onto his bed with those fairly significant pages in her hands, and she starts reading.

And it's beautiful. It flows well, and he uses perfect words, and he tells what seems like all their life stories. His and hers and their friends'. She thinks - knows, even - that she'd think it beautiful even if she wasn't a part of it; even if she hadn't lived it.

And the things he says about her, she almost can't believe. Words like beauty, and integrity, and passion and greatness. Words like love, and always and forever. Words like flawless. Perfect. Lonely (she doesn't love that one, but she knows it was true). Scared. He wrote that she's _"perfect in her simplicity, and complex in her perfection."_

She _loves_ him for that.

And for sentiments as beautiful as, _"I was now and would always be in love with Peyton Sawyer." _

She finishes around midnight and she steps gingerly into the hallway, then the living room. He's sleeping on the sofa in his clothes from that day, minus the jacket, and she almost laughs. Maybe she should have let him change before kicking him out of his own bedroom.

She sits next to him on the sofa, and it's then that she realizes that she's still got his book in her hand. She runs her other one through his hair until his eyes open, and her breath catches in her throat. Even when he's half asleep, he still looks at her like no one else ever has. He still makes her feel like no one else ever has.

"You wrote this?" she asks needlessly. He chuckles just a little bit and nods his head.

"Weak knees?" he asks, almost hopefully. There's a tear in her eye, and he places his palm on her cheek to catch it when it falls.

"The weakest," she tells him, just before she kisses him.

She doesn't need to think about all that's kept them apart over the years (it's all right there in black and white in her hands) but she wants to think of all the things that have brought them together. All those beautiful words. Sometimes shouted or yelled in public place. Sometimes spoken softly in little corners and quiet moments. A lot that probably shouldn't have been spoken at all.

She can't regret them, though. She won't regret any of them.

"I love you," he says.

She's almost certain that's all that really matters anyway. That maybe that was all that ever really mattered.

So she says it back.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
